Shatter: The Boys Are Demons Series

By Meredith Hale

He leaned in so close that for a second I thought he was going to kiss me. Then he pulled back and remained quiet for a little while, until he spoke in a low voice. Marie, theres something I need to tell you.

While average teenage girls have to deal with the stress of pop quizzes, cheating boyfriends, two hours worth of homework, and choosing which Instagram picture makes them look the skinniest, Marie is far from a normal teenage girl.
She has no idea what is happening to her as she tries to convince herself shes either going crazy or that these new abilities of super strength, sense, and controlling the elements are just unusual signs of puberty. Things start to get even more crazy when Adam Keller, an incredibly attractive new boy, tries to tell her she is the heir to the most powerful line of witches and that its his job to train her to use her powers.
Marie somehow finds herself in the middle of a love triangle and is forced to face conflicts that make her whole world shatter. What will Marie do when she confronts having powers, killing demons, and trying to avoid a boy that makes her heart flutter? Will she be able to walk away from everything she has ever known?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491754504

Meredith Hale

Meredith Hale has written many short stories and poems and has won numerous awards for her work. She began writing “Shatter” at age eleven and has changed the title six times since then. Meredith lives in Linthicum, Maryland, and is currently a senior in high school. Her free time is spent reading as many books as humanly possible and writing the sequel: “Shaken”. Follow Shatter on Instagram and Twitter @shatter_novel and follow Meredith @Mere22Hale. You can email her at [e-mail]. She would love to hear from her wonderful readers!

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Copyright © 2015 Meredith Hale.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-5452-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5451-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5450-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922478

iUniverse rev. date: 3/5/2015

Contents

Introduction

Prologue

1. Missing Classmates with Mentally Missing Parents

2. Boiling Water Burns? Shocker!

3. School Even Makes Teachers’ Heads Roll

4. Running Away from Home Is Harder when You Want to Run Back

5. Visa or Piggy Bank? Try Brainwaves

6. Late for a Very Important Nondate

7. It’s Not Jealousy

8. A Blast from the Past

9. Guns Don’t Kill People—Demons Do

10. There’s Nothing Stronger than the Bond of a Mother and Her Daughter or a Girl and Her Best Friend

11. I Clicked My Heels Three Times, but Nothing Happened

SHAKEN

1. A Goldfish Mass Murderer

Acknowledgments:

For my

loving grandparents,

who should be with me now.

Just remember, Marie, boys are demons.

—Mom

Introduction

Have you ever had something odd—something completely out of the ordinary—happen to you? And then everything you live for is torn apart because of it? Well, that’s what happened to me. I know that average teenage girls have to deal with the stress of pop quizzes, cheating boyfriends, two hours’ worth of homework, and deciding which Instagram picture makes them look the skinniest. Not me. Cheating boyfriends? If I were only so lucky.

Everyone wants what they can’t have. Everyone wants to be unique, powerful, and different. But what everyone doesn’t know is that this comes with a price. I am a broke teenager who doesn’t get an allowance but is forced to do the chores anyway. I had to pay a pretty high price.

Some, the lucky ones, can decide their fates. Others, like me, have their fates chosen for them. All I could do was just let it happen.

You think you can decide your own fate. But is it really up to you?

Prologue

It’s always the same dream, over and over again. It’s the same boy, with neon-blue eyes. And the same … creature.

It always starts with Ms. Blaine talking about some lesson. I’m always too busy staring out the window, daydreaming, to pay attention. I look down at my notes, only to find myself writing Marie and Adam with a heart around it.

Marie? At the mention of my name, my head shoots up immediately. Are you listening? Ms. Blaine raises her eyebrows. Because you look far away.

I shoot her a bittersweet smile. I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about, Ms. Blaine. I’m listening, and may I say, your lesson plan today is absolutely fascinating.

Then what did I just say?

Before I can gather a quick response, my thoughts are cut off by a gasp of shock from one of my classmates. "What is that?" I hear someone yell in astonishment.

That’s when the screaming always begins. I look around in alarm to see everyone else staring at the window in fright; there is a curious shine to their gazes as they gape. It sends a chill down my spine. Then I see what is outside of the window—a … thing in a pitch-black cloak. Whatever it is, it has bright-red eyes, and those eyes stare at me briefly before they flicker to someone else in the class—the boy with the bright-blue eyes. I have never seen him before in my life.

A few desks away from me, he is the only one not staring out the window. In fact, he is staring intently at me, and there is shock, protection, and confusion on his face. His gaze keeps switching from me to the figure behind the window.

I feel a strange push/pull; one is heaving me toward the window, the other is luring me over to the boy. It reminds me of one of those ancient punishments, when there would be people on either side of you, and they would pull you by your limbs until your bones gave out. Then they would burn you. Pleasant. But this burning isn’t on the outside; it’s in my head. It’s as if my brain is on fire. The burning is a screeching noise that it appears only I can hear.

I watch as the glass window breaks; shards fly everywhere as the figure steps into the classroom. Once the cloaked person/creature takes a step toward me, the imaginary noise gets louder until it is all I can hear. Abruptly my body shuts down from the screeching, and I collapse. The last thing I hear is someone screaming my name, and then I wake up in my bed.

1.

Missing Classmates with Mentally Missing Parents

I’ve never been in detention before, and I never want to be again. When I first entered, a guy dressed all in black, with black lipstick and a pierced lip, walked up to me and just stared for what felt like five minutes. He didn’t say anything; he just stared.

I like your earring, I told him. The boy with black lipstick continued to silently stare me down, not even having the decency to respond to my compliment. He didn’t blink when I politely informed him that the dark-emerald stone brought out the green in his hazel eyes.

Anyway, I’m officially scared of detention now.

Apart from the ticking of the clock, there was a ringing in my ears, the kind that comes with a long period of silence. I sat at my desk, bored to death, fiddling with my fingers. The maggot-white walls seemed to be closing in on me as I stared at the red arrows of the clock, willing them to move faster.

I couldn’t believe I’d gotten detention for talking in class. Of course, the whole getting a D on my test could be a part of it—but still! I mean, I hadn’t had time to study. The Walking Dead, Friends, and Say Yes To The Dress were on TV. (Even though they were repeats—still!)

"Cough, cough. Mazey!" I heard my best guy friend, Julian, whisper my nickname after some overly dramatic fake coughing noises from behind me.

My real name is Marie; it’s pronounced like Mary. The nurse spelled my name wrong on my birth certificate (I know, right! Who doesn’t know how to spell the name Mary?). Anyway, my mom had already wanted a unique spelling, so it had stuck.

Cough, cough. Julian continued to make more obnoxious husky cough noises. Mazey!

I turned to see him grinning widely at me. Julian had created the nickname Mazey for me when we were kids.

At the beginning of detention, when a dozen or so students had taken their seats, Julian had chosen the seat behind me. During the first fifteen minutes, he had entertained himself by playing with my long, dark-brown hair. At first I had been half surprised to see Julian in detention. Sure, he was always up to something, but he almost never got caught.

How’d you get allowed in here, Ms. Goody Two-shoes? he’d asked when he’d first seen me in detention.

I was not a goody two-shoes! I’d just never gotten detention before, and the only reason I was in it was because my science teacher mentally and spiritually hated me. "I am so not a goody two-shoes," I’d told him with a scowl.

For the rest of detention, Julian continued to whisper Ms. Goldstar in my ear. I was starting to get annoyed. He kept trying to get me into trouble with Ms. Owen, the teacher who had the pleasure of observing detention.

Mazey! Julian whispered incredibly loudly.

I could almost see Ms. Owen’s ears twitching. Silence! she shrieked, and then she went back to her magazine.

Stop, I whispered to him. Since we were seated farther back in the classroom, Ms. Owen couldn’t hear me.

"Cough, cough. Only a goody two-shoes—cough—would be whispering in detention. Cough, cough." He finally used his normal voice, and the silence made it seem as if he had shouted. Though no one could really understand a word over the fake coughing he used to mask it.

Julian Russel! Would you stop that incessant coughing? Ms. Owen yelled.

I’m so sorry, ma’am, Julian said in his angel-innocent voice. "I just—cough—I think I’m—cough—coming down with something."

In September?

I’m allergic to school. Julian tried. Ms. Owen glared at him suspiciously, but Julian tried again, not giving up on the charade. "Um, achoo?"

Nice try. Next week detention.

Looking forward to seeing your smiling face. He winked at her as she scowled and walked away.

I stared at the arrows on the clock and clenched my fists, wishing time would move quicker. All of a sudden, the arrows did move to tick faster than time. They just moved, with no hesitation, around the clock! I glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had.

Suddenly the bell rang. It made me jump, until I realized what it was for, and then I started jumping for joy. Yes! Detention was over! I heard the class finally relax and ease up along with me. I gathered my books. As heavy as they were, I was happy and in a rush to finally get out of there. I decided that the moving of the clock arrows had just been my imagination. Probably just a lack of sleep.

Ms. Owen has been giving me detention all month, Julian whined, pouting his puppy-dog face as we walked out of the school building together. Do you think she has a crush on me?

If she doesn’t, she’d be the only female in school. I smiled as we passed the huge tree that marked the school’s main entrance. I tried not to trip over the sidewalk cracks that had grass growing from them.

Other than you, of course. I saw an emotion flash in his big brown eyes, but it was gone so quickly I wasn’t able to name it.

Julian truly was a heartbreaker, or at least he had the potential to be. He had long dark-brown hair that fell over his puppy-dog brown eyes. He was taller than me by maybe three inches, and there were always dimples in his cheeks, because he was almost always smiling.

Of course. Don’t think I didn’t see the lunch lady slip you extra fries. We walked onto the dark asphalt parking lot among the cars of different colors and sizes. There were parents standing beside some cars, scanning the crowd of kids for their own.

Who? Helen?

First name basis already, Romeo? I raised an eyebrow at him as I brushed my long hair out of my eyes.

I can’t help that I am attractive to those in hairnets. I couldn’t help but laugh at him. So, what are you going to tell your mom about detention? Julian knew my mom was super strict on me.

I. Have. No. Idea. I tried to come up with something as we cut through a line of traffic that was barely moving. I usually walked to school, so my mom’s car was not among the busy mess.

So I didn’t have a plan figured out yet on how to deal with my mom’s rage—so what? I wouldn’t need an excuse until I got home. That meant I had my entire twenty-minute walk home to think it over. Maybe she wouldn’t ground me if I made her a cake with icing that spelled out I love you, Mommy. Or maybe she wouldn’t ask. Maybe she’d missed the phone call. My little sister, Meg, loved to answer the phone when no one was around. So what if my mom never heard the message the school always left about a child getting detention?

But then I saw her standing there, in the midst of the chaos of the parking lot, shaking her head from side to side. She had a disapproving look on her face. This was not a good sign.

Uh-oh, Julian muttered under his breath as he dug his hands into his loose-fitting jean pockets.

Why was it that when you got detention, the county/school has to call your house verifying that your parents or guardians know? Didn’t they know they’d just murdered my social life for the next week? There was no question from my mother’s expression; I could tell I was going to be grounded. Dang, that totally ruined my afternoon—plus I still had homework.

Hey there, Ms. Celeste. Julian used his pearly white smile on her.

Julian. She didn’t even spare a glance at him; she saved her stony face just for me.

"Well—um—bye, Mazey." Julian said and then escaped quickly.

Bye. I stared after him. Lucky boy. He was a free man. From my mom’s expression, I could already see myself in an orange jumpsuit with a beeping ankle monitor, under house arrest.

Mare, why did you get detention? my mother demanded, really not in the mood. Her eyes narrowed on me when I hesitated.

I love you too, Mom. How was your day? I asked as I slipped into the tomato-red hybrid.

You don’t care how my day was; now tell me why you got detention. She tried to wring an answer out of me.

Why, my dear beloved mother, of course I care about your day. You are the light to my darkness. The peanut butter to my jelly. The water to my river. The—

Marie! My mom let out an aggravated huff.

Anyway, I want to hear every lovely long detail about your delightful day.

Quit it, she ordered.

Hey, what’s for dinner? I asked in an attempt to change the subject. I could tell from her expression that she wasn’t buying it. We were driving fast; I think she was going faster than the speed limit. You know, Mom, you shouldn’t drive so fast; it’s called breaking the law.

Passing notes in class? Apparently she had decided to just start guessing.

Nope. I made a popping noise with my lips on the P.

Talking in class? she guessed, determined.

And Bingo was his name-o, I sang, watching her reaction intently. Her expression shocked and confused me; she looked calm, though she was breathing heavily, as if she were one of those people with anger-management issues. You know, Mom, personally I believe it is unpatriotic to give someone detention for talking in class.

And why would it be unpatriotic, Marie? She’d decided to just play along and humor me.

Freedom of speech, I said simply.

That freedom isn’t honored in school.

You mean I can’t wear my ‘I love guns, sniper life forever’ T-shirt? Well, that just sucks.

Anything else I should know about? She went back to the subject at hand, sounding as if she wanted the answer to her question to be no. Sadly, that just wasn’t going to be the case this time.

Well, if we’re still talking about my immature actions that I’m just so sorry about, I continued as she glared. We did have a test …

C? she growled, not happy at all now.

Uh, lower, I said quietly and cautiously.

D? She was on the edge; one lower and I think she would crack. Good thing they didn’t have Zs.

"Ding, ding, ding! Man, you’re on a roll, you know that? Maybe today is your lucky day. We should get a lottery ticket." I replied, blabbering on. I really had a problem with sarcasm. Don’t get me wrong, I cared about getting that bad grade. I was used to a B or C being the worst. I had just completely forgotten we were having a test, so I hadn’t studied—and I’d also really wanted to watch TV that day.

I had a bad habit of using sarcasm as a cover when my mom was mad at me. Luckily, we were home before I could continue to annoy her. I got out of the car, managing to slam the door a little harder than I meant to. Great, we were home! That meant I’d hide in my room